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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663859">The Novel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendofCarlotta/pseuds/FriendofCarlotta'>FriendofCarlotta</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A tiny bit of angst about Cas and the Empty but this is almost all fluff, Canon Compliant, Castiel Deserves Better (Supernatural), Castiel Deserves to be Loved (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester Are Fluffy Domestic Husbands, Castiel and Dean Winchester are in Love, Coda, Dean Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Episode: s15e20 Carry On Coda, Everyone lives/Nobody dies, First Kiss, Fix-It, Gay Sex, It's joyful and gratuitous, M/M, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, technically</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:03:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663859</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendofCarlotta/pseuds/FriendofCarlotta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, Cas, Sam and Eileen are happily retired and living their best lives. There's just one problem: Sam has decided to commemorate the Winchester brothers' adventures by writing a novel, and it's not very good at all. </p><p>AKA the episode coda where 15x20 was nothing more than Dean reading a draft of his brother's first novel and becoming increasingly appalled.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>480</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Novel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been having a very hard time since Thursday, as I know many of you all have too. So yes, I wanted to write a lighthearted coda about the complete absurdity of 15x20, because sometimes I have to laugh through my tears so I don't fall apart. Writing this was incredibly cathartic for me, and my sincere hope is that reading it proves cathartic for you as well.</p><p>If you're able, please consider donating to <a href="https://give.thetrevorproject.org/fundraiser/3037563">The Castiel Project</a>, a special fundraiser to benefit The Trevor Project, which does great work saving LGBTQ+ lives. Another worthy cause is the <a href="https://donate.nami.org/fundraiser/3040106">Dean Winchester Is Love</a> campaign, which benefits the National Alliance on Mental Illness.</p><p>Please take good care of yourself and each other. You are valid and loved. </p><p>This is for Misha, Jensen, Bobo and everyone else who tried to do better for us.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>The Present</strong>
</p><p>“This has gotta be some kind of really elaborate prank, right?”</p><p>Leaning back against the headboard, Dean frowns down at the pile of printouts scattered on the bedspread.</p><p>A slightly grumpy shout of, “What?” sounds from the open doorway to the master bathroom.</p><p>Dean frowns harder, eyes still fixed on the pages. “I said, I think this is a prank. And it’s not even that funny.” He scratches at the back of his neck, perplexed. “I mean, <em>I’m</em> obviously the brother who got all the funny genes, so that part makes sense, but—”</p><p>He trails off, and Cas’ head peeks through the doorframe, hair tousled from his recent shower and a toothbrush stuck in the corner of his mouth. He removes it to say, “I don’t think Sam wrote an entire novel just to prank you.”</p><p>Dean levels him with a Husband Look. He’s gotten pretty good at those over the past couple of years. “Have you met us? <em>Anything </em>for a prank.”</p><p>“Yes, but writing a novel is rather a time-consuming endeavor. This would have taken him weeks, maybe months. Even for a Winchester, that seems excessive commitment to a prank.”</p><p>Cas withdraws back into the bathroom with his toothbrush, leaving Dean to call after him, “He wrote an entire scene where we go to some kind of pie festival, just for a lame joke about smashing a pie in my face.”</p><p>There's a vague grunt, followed by vigorous brushing.</p><p>Louder, Dean adds, “I die in this! And not even some awesome, badass way. You know what gets me? A fucking piece of rebar!”</p><p>The sound of spitting, then Cas emerges from the bathroom, wearing nothing but a low-slung pair of striped pajama pants. They’re Dean’s favorite because they’re half a size too small and leave very little to the imagination where Cas’ assets are concerned. Watching Cas walk over to the dresser, Dean almost forgets to be mad.</p><p>“I’ve read it too,” Cas reminds him. “I’m familiar with the plot.”</p><p>Dean throws up his hands in exasperation. “And you don’t think it’s weird? I mean, you’re barely even mentioned in here!”</p><p>Cas pulls on his t-shirt, and Dean takes a second to mourn the unimpeded view of his husband's broad shoulders and sharp hipbones. Oh well. He might get Cas out of that shirt later, when they’re done talking about this fucking travesty.</p><p>“I mentioned that to Eileen, actually,” Cas says as he walks over to his side of the bed and slides under the covers. “She thinks it’s because Sam is still holding a grudge about that time we were visiting them a few months ago, when I used up the last of his organic shampoo.”</p><p>Dean thunks his head back against the wall, a little harder than he was going for, but he’s got a high enough pain tolerance (and a sufficient sense of pride) to pretend like it didn’t hurt.</p><p>“That’s fucking ridiculous.” He shuffles through the pages, looking for something. “And what about <em>this</em>? ‘Sam’s wife stands on the porch steps, watching as her husband plays happily with little Dean.’”</p><p>Cas winces, acknowledging Dean’s point. “I did read that as an unfortunate and probably unintended double entendre, yes.”</p><p>Dean thinks a moment, then his jaw slackens with horror. “For fuck’s sake, Cas, my head didn’t even go there. I was talking about <em>Eileen</em>! She’s his wife, and she shows up in exactly one scene! He doesn’t even give her a name in here.”</p><p>“Oh.” Cas nods his understanding. “Well, Eileen said she convinced Sam that it would be a good thing to preserve the mystique of the wife, so everyone can imagine her the way they want to.”</p><p>“That makes no fucking sense, Cas.”</p><p>“I know.” Cas chuckles fondly. “She said she wanted to be supportive and encourage her husband’s interest in writing, but she also didn’t want her name to be associated with the resulting product.”</p><p>Dean snorts. “That sounds like her. Seriously, though. It’s a prank, right?”</p><p>Cas tilts his head back and forth, considering. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it is. Sam seems fairly convinced this story is a worthy representation of your journey together.”</p><p>“That’s just it though,” Dean says, setting the stack of paper down on his nightstand and turning off his bedside lamp. “Why make stuff up when he could just tell people what really happened? Like the story of how we got you out of the Empty? Now <em>that</em> was a good story.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Past</strong>
</p><p>Eileen barely makes it down the steps into the bunker’s foyer, Sam trailing in her wake, before Dean wraps her up in a tight hug. It’s good — she’s warm, solid, and he can feel the stretch of her smile against his shoulder before she pulls away.</p><p>He tries to mirror the happiness in her expression, but he knows he doesn’t really manage. Real happiness isn’t something he gets to have anymore. Not after—</p><p>Swallowing, Dean pushes away the memory of Cas, smiling through his tears even as the darkness came for him. He needs to keep it together, needs to at least pretend to be okay, for Sam and Eileen.</p><p><em>Welcome back</em>, he signs, just like Sam showed him.</p><p>Eileen’s smile grows, a little bit of wetness pooling in her eyes as she raises her hand to her lips, then drops it down and towards him. <em>Thank you</em>.</p><p>“I don’t even remember being gone,” she says, walking over to Sam and tucking herself under his arm. Sam looks a little misty-eyed too as he squeezes her shoulders. “But I know you guys do. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”</p><p>Not really sure how to respond, Dean just nods. “Yeah,” he croaks.</p><p>“Sam told me about Jack,” Eileen says, eyes flitting across Dean’s face, searching for something. “But… where's Cas?”</p><p>Dean can feel something building in his throat and behind his eyes, his fragile control starting to give. “I’ll, um… just let you guys have some alone time,” he mutters, and walks away, back to his room as fast as he can without actually running, the memory of Cas’ last words snapping at his heels.</p><p>
  <em>I cared about the whole world because of you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You changed me, Dean.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I love you.</em>
</p><p>By the time the door falls shut behind him, his vision is already blurry, but he’s at least managed to stifle the sob that was threatening to crawl up his throat. He sinks onto his bed, head in his hands, trying desperately to keep himself from falling apart.</p><p>As he sits down, something crinkles.</p><p>Momentarily distracted, Dean gets up to see what he was sitting on. There’s a small piece of paper, folded once down the middle, and next to it a small purple bag, tied with a crimson ribbon. A sweet, flowery scent emanates from it. It's familiar, something he remembers Sam and Rowena using in spells before. <em>Forget-me-nots</em>.</p><p>Several decades’ worth of hunting have taught Dean a few things, such as not to touch potentially witchy objects without protection, so he reaches into his closet for a pair of gloves. Once he’s got them safely pulled on, he picks up the note and unfolds it.</p><p>Across the top, printed in a fussy, curling red font, it says:</p><p>
  <em>From the Desk of the Queen of Hell</em>
</p><p>Below, written in black ink, are two words, in all capital letters, underlined three times:</p><p>FIX IT.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Present</strong>
</p><p>“I think the problem with writing about that story,” Cas says thoughtfully into the darkness of their bedroom, “is that it would require too much exposition. Except for a very small group of people, the audience wouldn’t know anything about yours and Sam’s lives, or what you’ve been through. If Sam were to tell that story, he would have to explain about the Empty. And Chuck. And Rowena. And the entire history of our relationship, which, as you and I know, is long and complicated.” Dean can feel him shrug where their shoulders are touching under the covers. “Writing a straightforward plot about a hunt and the bond between two brothers is easier.”</p><p>Dean groans. “Don’t remind me about that hunt. Vampires with clown masks, for God’s sake! He’s a grown-ass man, and he’s <em>still</em> afraid of clowns.”</p><p>“You’re still afraid of flying.” Dean can sense the smug smile radiating off Cas’ face even in the pitch dark.</p><p>“Totally different,” he growls. “Fear of flying is extremely rational.”</p><p>“Of course, Dean.” Cas turns onto his side and pulls Dean closer, nosing at his collarbone. “I’m sorry you’re finding this so upsetting. What can we possibly do to distract you?”</p><p>Dean hums happily as Cas trails open-mouthed kisses up the side of his throat. “Guess I got a few ideas.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Past</strong>
</p><p>“So you think this is about Cas?” Eileen asks.</p><p>The three of them are sitting around the library table, the note and contents of the bag spread out between them.</p><p>Dean nods. “When…” He swallows. Saying Cas' name out loud is still hard. “When Cas and I were fighting a while back and we went to hell, Rowena kinda gave us some advice. She said we needed to fix things between us before it was too late.”</p><p>Dean remembers that day, how he was still too angry to listen, Rowena’s words sliding off the mile-high wall he’d built to contain his hurt and grief.</p><p>But deep down, he <em>did</em> want to fix it, and it took Purgatory, and the fear that he’d finally lost Cas for good, to make the words come.</p><p>Well, some of them, anyway.</p><p>
  <em>Cas, I need to say something.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You don’t have to say it.</em>
</p><p>He should’ve made Cas listen then, or after they got back. But he kept putting it off, again and again, until it was too late, and Cas died thinking he wasn’t loved.</p><p>“They’re definitely spell ingredients,” Sam says, startling Dean out of his thoughts. “Some of them are what you’d need to open a portal, but others look more like ingredients for a locator spell. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”</p><p>“That makes sense, right?” Eileen asks. “A spell to get to the Empty, and to help you find Cas once you’re there.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess so,” Sam says, “but a locator spell works much better if you have something that belonged to the person you’re looking for. Cas never really had much in the way of personal possessions, did he?”</p><p>Dean thinks of the closet in his room, and the jacket that’s hidden in the back. He couldn’t get himself to wash it. “Would blood work?”</p><p>Sam looks up at him, surprised, before realization flickers across his face. He saw Dean wearing that jacket, after all. And then, a few days ago, after the whole ordeal with Lucifer and the phone call, he walked into Dean’s room without knocking and caught him curled up on his bed, lining his fingers up against the handprint. The last piece of Cas he had left. By mutual, silent agreement, they haven’t talked about that.</p><p>“Yeah,” Sam says, “I think it would.”</p><p>“So we have the ingredients we need,” Eileen says, looking at them both in turn for confirmation. When Sam nods, she says, “But where do we open the portal? Will the spell work anywhere?”</p><p>Sam reaches for one of the dusty tomes stacked next to the spell ingredients. “It says here that a spell to open a portal has the greatest chance of success in a place where that kind of portal has been opened before.” He tucks a stray bit of hair behind his ear, traces the faded lines of writing with his index finger. “What we don’t have is the correct incantation to activate the spell.”</p><p>“Fuck this.” The harsh anger in Dean’s voice startles even him, but he’s well past the point of politeness. “If Rowena was going to help us, why all this fucking mystery? Why wouldn’t she just come here and do the spell? Or at least tell us exactly how to do it?”</p><p>Sam’s expression is pinched, like he wants to tell Dean off but is trying to hold back. “She’s Queen of Hell, Dean. It’s her job to keep the peace there, and with the other cosmic dimensions. She can’t be seen helping us openly undermine the Empty.”</p><p>Dean pushes his chair away from the table and vaults off it, kicking it for good measure. “That’s bullshit! If she really wanted to help, she could’ve done a damn sight more.”</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, Dean—”</p><p>“Guys?” Eileen holds up the crimson ribbon that came with the bag of spell ingredients, grinning. “I think I found the incantation.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Present</strong>
</p><p>“Cas. Fuck,<em> Cas</em>.”</p><p>Sweat pearls on Dean’s forehead as he holds on to the headboard for dear life, Cas pushing into him from behind, again and again, at a breathtaking pace.</p><p>“Dean. So good. You feel so good.” Cas’ breath is coming fast and ragged, deep, guttural grunts escaping him with every thrust. Dean’s cock is heavy and aching between his legs, leaving a puddle of precome on the sheets.</p><p>“Cas, wanna — <em>ah</em> — wanna ride you.”</p><p>Cas reaches down, putting a hand on Dean’s chest to pull him up with absurd ease. The last of Cas’ grace faded years ago, but he’s still stronger than most humans, and he’s got amazing balance. From one second to the next, Dean’s sitting in Cas’ lap, leaning back against him.</p><p>“Fuck. It’s so hot when you do that.” Dean reaches back and pulls Cas in by his neck, connecting their lips in a panting, sloppy kiss before he sinks down onto Cas’ cock.</p><p>Cas moans from deep within his chest, the sound spurring Dean on as he raises himself up and plunges down again, jerking himself in time with the rhythm.</p><p>When Cas’ fingers wrap around Dean’s, holding him tighter, jerking him faster, Dean comes all over both their hands with a shout. He sinks forward again, boneless, letting Cas grab hold of his hips and fuck into him until, with one last, guttural groan, Cas paints Dean's insides with his release.</p><p>They sink down onto the mattress, limbs tangled together. They should clean up, but Dean’s legs don’t seem to want to work just yet.</p><p>“I love you,” he whispers into the disastrous mess of Cas’ hair.</p><p>“I love you, too,” Cas says, tenderly, happily, flinging an arm across Dean’s chest and holding on tight.</p><p>For a moment, they lie together in silence, just enjoying the closeness and peace of it. Then, something occurs to Dean.</p><p>“Okay, but why would he name the kid ‘Dean’ anyway?”</p><p>Cas groans and rolls off to the side, burying his face in his pillow.</p><p>“It’s kinda creepy, don’t you think? Not to mention confusing?”</p><p>“It’s not confusing, because you're dead,” Cas mumbles tonelessly, voice muffled by fluffy down and Egyptian cotton.</p><p>“Okay, but what happens when the kid dies and we’re all in Heaven or whatever? It’ll definitely be confusing<em> then</em>.”</p><p>“Dean.” Cas raises one hand off the pillow to swat blindly at Dean’s side, landing a pretty decent hit to his arm. “Shut up. I’m trying to enjoy the afterglow.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Past</strong>
</p><p>It doesn’t take them more than half an hour to get everything set up in the dungeon.</p><p>Sam puts all the ingredients in a spell bowl, right in front of the wall where Cas disappeared. Eileen cuts up Dean’s jacket, leaving only the square of fabric that bears Cas’ handprint, and adds it to the bowl.</p><p>“Okay,” Sam says, putting a steadying hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You sure you don’t want us to come with you?”</p><p>“Nah, I—” Dean breaks off, staring at the impenetrable brick in front of him. “I feel like this is something I’ve gotta do by myself.”</p><p>“Good luck, Dean,” Eileen says, and pulls him in for another hug.</p><p>His throat feels tight, so he just gives her a crooked smile.</p><p>“Okay.” Sam nods, determined, and steps away. “I’ll set fire to the ingredients, and then you speak the words to open the portal.”</p><p>Dean pulls the ribbon out of his pocket and looks down at it. On one side, in miniscule letters, are the words “lux in obscurum”— light in the darkness. On the other side, “e obscurum, lux” — out of darkness, light. Their working theory is that one opens the portal on this side, the other reopens it from within the Empty. But that’s all it is: a theory.</p><p>“When you’ve got him, speak the words to get out, and that should hopefully do it.” Sam meets Dean’s eyes, questioning. “Ready?”</p><p>Dean carefully restores the ribbon to his pocket. “Ready,” he says, steady as he can manage.</p><p>Sam pulls out a book of matches and strikes one against the side until it catches. He drops the match into the spell bowl. A white-hot, sparking flame erupts, consuming the ingredients and spreading the scent of forget-me-nots through the room.</p><p>Dean steps forward. “Lux in obscurum,” he says, staring at the wall, willing it to let him pass.</p><p>For the longest ten seconds of Dean’s life, nothing happens. Then, a blackness appears in the center of the wall, spreading and oozing and searching; tarry, diseased fingers clawing at the brick. When the gaping hole of the portal is big enough to admit him, Dean steps through it.</p><p>Oblivion surrounds him, the darkness thick enough to feel like a living, breathing thing. He’s walking, but his feet are not on solid ground. He’s breathing, but the sound of his breath doesn’t reach his ears. He’s neither warm nor cold. He’s nothing.</p><p>Except, no. Not nothing, exactly. There’s something inside him, like a hook caught in his chest, pulling him along. Not painful, but definitely… urgent.</p><p>He’s not sure how long he keeps walking. Every once in a while, he calls Cas’ name, but there’s never an answer. In the beginning, he tries to count the seconds as they pass, but after a while, it doesn’t seem important anymore. Minutes might have passed since he came through, or months. It’s impossible to tell.</p><p>But the longer he walks, the stronger the pull inside him becomes, until suddenly it stops. Panic spiking hot and sour through his blood, Dean turns, searching.</p><p>His eyes fall on a figure to his left, sitting and hunched over, a familiar, well-worn coat stretching across its shoulders.</p><p>“Cas.” For the first time in days, the name feels right on his tongue; safe and familiar.</p><p>The figure raises its head, turns. Cas looks exhausted, shadows under his eyes, the lines on his forehead carved deep. “Dean?”</p><p>“Hey.” Dean closes the rest of the distance between them and sinks to his knees, getting down to Cas’ level. “Hey.”</p><p>Cas sits there, staring, confusion plain on his face. “Dean, what are you doing here? You should be out there, fighting Chuck, you should be—”</p><p>Dean shakes his head. “Chuck’s gone, and I’m not here to talk about him.” He raises his hand, the flutter of his heartbeat setting up a frantic rhythm in his chest. “I’m here to talk about you.” Shaking a little, his hand comes to rest on Cas’ knee, and Cas flinches. But somehow, despite the featureless darkness surrounding them, he’s real and all there. Solid and warm. “Actually,” Dean says, over the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears, “I guess I’m here to talk about myself.”</p><p>He breathes deep, in, out, forces himself into that focused, deliberate headspace he uses on hunts. It’s saved his life more times than he can count; it’ll get him through this too.</p><p>“All those things you said about me. How I’m not some blunt instrument. How I did everything for love of my brother and the people we’ve saved.”</p><p>Cas looks away, eyes fixed on the darkness. “Dean, I meant what I said, but you don’t have to—”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, I really do.” Cas’ eyes dart back to his face, searching. “I heard you. But I also know that I carry a lot of guilt for the things I’ve done. And some of the worst of that guilt? It’s because I let you die, thinking you weren’t loved.” His voice quavers on the last word, and he can feel the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over. “You are so, so loved, Cas. I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long—” His voice breaks again as he watches Cas’ eyes widen, his lips part. “I’m sorry it took me till now to say it.”</p><p>Cas swallows as he looks down at his lap, where Dean’s hand is still resting on his knee. “You mean… like Sam? You love me like you love Sam.”</p><p>“No,” Dean says, leaning forward to close the distance between them. “No, I don’t mean that at all.”</p><p>He presses their lips together, tasting salt, and warmth, and just a hint of the thunder and lightning he first felt all those years ago, in an abandoned barn in the heart of Illinois.</p><p>Slowly, carefully, he pulls back, eyes searching Cas’ face, warmth building in his chest at the smile he sees there.</p><p>“Wanna get out of here?” he asks, cheeks aching with the force of his own smile.</p><p>Cas cups his face, wiping at the tear tracks with a gentle, tentative thumb. “I thought you’d never ask.”</p><p>Dean holds out a hand to pull Cas up, and Cas comes, his solid warmth pressed tight against Dean’s side as their arms wrap around each other.</p><p>“E obscurum, lux,” Dean says, and a light appears in the darkness.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Present</strong>
</p><p>“Fuck, it’s Sam. What the hell do I say?”</p><p>Dean stares down at his phone, vibrating its way across the kitchen island, the word “Sam” flashing across the screen like a warning beacon.</p><p>Cas looks up from his reading chair in the corner of the living room. He’s working his way through some Russian novel that’s heavier than the barbells gathering dust in their garage. “You’re asking <em>me </em>for advice on how to navigate a delicate social interaction?”</p><p>“Ugh. Point taken.” Dean’s phone is still vibrating insistently.</p><p>“You should probably turn down the heat on the bacon,” Cas says, sniffing, before he turns his attention back to his book.</p><p>He’s not wrong, Dean realizes. The pork strips lining his favorite pan are well on their way to graduating from 'crispy' to 'charred.'</p><p>By the time he turns back to his phone, it’s fallen silent. Somehow, that silence feels eloquent. Accusing.</p><p>“Seriously, though. For better or worse, right?” Dean isn’t exactly proud of the panicked edge in his voice, but it has the desired effect: Cas looks up from his book again. “<em>This</em> is worse. So what do I say?”</p><p>“I don’t know, Dean. Tell him it’s interesting. It has potential. It’s…” Cas drums his fingers on the pages of his book, considering. “Different.”</p><p>“Fine.” Dean glares at Cas, then down at his phone, punching in Sam’s number with somewhat unnecessary force. “But I’m putting him on speakerphone so you can save my ass when things go south. It’s in the job description, buddy.” He holds up his left hand and wiggles his ring finger, the one with the silver band on it.</p><p>With a put-upon sigh, Cas migrates from his reading chair to one of the stools by the kitchen counter, finger stuck in his Russian tome to mark his place.</p><p>Seconds later, Sam’s tinny voice sounds from the phone speaker. “Hey, how’s it going?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, we’re good. Fine. Awesome. Peachy.” Sam’s frown is practically audible over the phone line, and Dean probably should’ve stopped talking three adjectives ago. “Cas is here, too,” he says, already panicking.</p><p>Cas rolls his eyes. “Hello, Sam. We’re fine, thank you for asking.”</p><p>“That’s great. Listen, guys, I just wanted to see if you’d had a chance to read through the draft. I really wanted to hear your thoughts on it before I start sending it out to publishers.”</p><p>“It’s interesting,” Dean says, too quickly, eyes darting up to Cas, who mouths, <em>has potential</em>. “It has potential,” Dean parrots obediently.</p><p>“It’s different,” Cas adds out loud, for good measure.</p><p>For a few seconds, there’s nothing but a staticky crackle, then, “You guys hated it, didn’t you?”</p><p>“No,” Cas says.</p><p>“Noooooo,” Dean says. “Nope. Not at all. Never.”</p><p>Cas shoots him a look that very clearly says, <em>Stop talking now</em>.</p><p>There’s a distinctly annoyed edge to Sam’s voice now. “Okay, fine. Listen. I spent months slaving over this thing. I poured my blood, sweat and tears into it. The least you can do is give me some honest, constructive feedback.”</p><p>Dean’s panic recedes, replaced by an uncomfortable, guilty squirm. <em>I should probably apologize</em>, he mouths at Cas. Cas grimaces and nods.</p><p>“I’m so sorry, man. I— we think it’s awesome that you decided to write our story and actually went through with it. I mean, it’s not like—”</p><p>Dean cuts off at the unmistakable sound of a snort coming over the line. “Oh my God.” That's definitely a cackle now, and then a loud intake of breath. “Hoo. Wow. I really had you guys going.”</p><p>Dean’s mouth opens and closes, but no sound seems to be coming out. Across the kitchen island, Cas looks to be in a similar predicament.</p><p>“Uh, guys? You still there?”</p><p>“You’re saying this was a prank,” Dean says tonelessly, glaring daggers at his husband, who, to his credit, looks a little chastened.</p><p>“Obviously. I mean, c’mon. If I was ever gonna write down our story, I wouldn’t have to make up some mess about vampires in clown masks and pies and Dean being impaled by a piece of goddamn rebar. We’ve had so much more interesting stuff happen to us. Like that time we got Cas back from the Empty? That was a great story!”</p><p>“But what about Eileen?” Cas asks, in a transparent, final attempt to pull out the win. “She told me—”</p><p>Sam starts cackling again. “She was totally in on the whole thing. Even came up with the whole ‘nameless, faceless wife’ thing.” There’s the sound of something shifting on the other end of the line, then a chair being pulled closer to the phone. “We didn’t wanna video call you guys because we were afraid we wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face, but I’ve been signing along this whole time.” Another shuffling sound. “Eileen, say hi to the guys.”</p><p>“Hi, guys.” Eileen's voice sounds shaky with mirth.</p><p>Dean holds a silent conversation with his husband. It takes less than ten seconds, but an entire battle plan is formed and agreed upon within that short span of time.</p><p>“You guys are going down,” Dean growls, pointing a threatening finger at his phone. “Watch your backs. We’re coming for you.”</p><p>Supportive husband that he is, Cas reaches down to hang up the call, effectively handing Dean the last word.</p><p>“I was right, and you were wrong,” Dean says, with supreme dignity. “It’s a good thing I love you, or I might make you scrub those charred bacon bits out of the pan just for doubting me.”</p><p>Cas saunters back to his reading chair, Russian tome already back open on his lap. “I’m beginning to rethink the merits of death by rebar,” he growls, eyes fixed firmly on the page.</p><p>Dean shakes his head, amused, and turns back to the stove to see how much of the bacon can be salvaged.</p><p>“But I love you, too,” Cas mumbles, almost inaudible, and Dean smiles.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments are life! If you enjoyed this, please leave me one, or hit that kudos button. I really appreciate hearing your thoughts :) . (If you really, really enjoyed this, here's a <a href="https://friendofcarlotta.tumblr.com/post/635509698103214080/the-novel-dean-cas-sam-and-eileen-are-happily">rebloggable tumblr post</a>.)</p><p>If you think you might like to read more of my writing in the future, you can <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendofCarlotta/pseuds/FriendofCarlotta">subscribe to me</a> on my author page!</p><p>Come yell at me on <a href="https://friendofcarlotta.tumblr.com">tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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